


In Dependence Day

by dragonspell



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 05
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-07
Updated: 2010-04-07
Packaged: 2018-08-11 17:57:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7902268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonspell/pseuds/dragonspell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kid was going to fucking <i>love</i> this and Dean couldn’t regret blowing a hundred bucks on the stuff in the trunk.  It might even make up for May 2nd.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Dependence Day

**Author's Note:**

> Imported from Livejournal 8-28-16.

**Title:** In Dependence Day  
**Author:** [](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dragonspell.livejournal.com/)**dragonspell**  
**Series:** Supernatural  
**Pairing:** None (omg!)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Warnings/Spoilers:** Spoilers for 5.16, "Dark Side of the Moon." Language.  
**Summary:** The kid was going to fucking _love_ this and Dean couldn’t regret blowing a hundred bucks on the stuff in the trunk. It might even make up for May 2nd.  
**Word Count:** 2370

  
“Sam,” Dean whispered. He crouched down next to Sam’s bed, keeping himself in the shadows and against the wall. The clock beside his shoulder clicked onto 2:34, telling him it was about time they got this show on the road. Which would be perfect except for one thing… He glared at Sam’s scrawny form, curled up asleep under the scratchy motel comforter. Sam had gone to bed early tonight, pissed off at Dad _again_.

Speaking of their father… Dean glanced up to make sure that the man was just where he’d left him: sprawled on top of the covers of the far bed, lightly snoring. Dead fucking drunk. _Again._ Dean frowned at him, a little bit of resentment flashing up before he ruthlessly squashed it. It didn’t matter what their father should be doing—thoughts like that didn’t help anybody. He still managed to do what needed to be done and that was all that mattered. Dean could pick up the rest.

Keeping his voice in a whisper, Dean reached out his hand, lightly touching his little brother’s shoulder, and repeated, “Sam!” He shook Sam a little, trying to wake him up. “Damn it, Sammy, wake up.” Dean didn’t dare raise his voice any louder because—drunk or not—he had no doubt that Dad would sit straight up.

For being a supposed hunter, though, Sam could really fucking sleep sometimes.

Well, Dean supposed, he should be able to. Christ, the kid was only 13. His biggest traumatic moment was supposed to be trying out for little league not running for his fucking life from a pissed off black dog.

Dean winced. That had been last week. This week… Well, this week, he and Dad had done better for Sam. This week had just been safe, boring as hell research. Sam liked that. Or rather, he liked that better than the actual hunting. And Sam deserved better.

School was out, too, so even the moving around that they’d been doing the past month, shouldn’t bother Sam too much.

Thirteen was a bit of shitty age, though, Dean thought. He didn’t remember being such a punk back when he was 13. Oh, sure, he’d been a regular juvenile delinquent in the eyes of the law, but at least he hadn’t spent all his time skulking around the motel room or mouthing off to Dad.

Christ. Dad got Sam but good last time, too. When Sam’d pushed the envelope just a little too far again, instead of watching himself like he should. Middle of June and Sam had said something smart while standing just a little too close to Dad. For being a bright kid, Sammy could be a dumb little shit.

Sam hadn’t talked for two days afterward. Hell, he hadn’t even _looked_ at Dad. Hadn’t even come close to him, just had Dean act as a go-between, handing off the scraps of information he’d dug up or whatever and used all of his considerable teenage angst to project his injured pride and disapproval.

And it was fucking horrible but as strained as Dean had felt during that time—terrified of Dad’s dark thunder cloud, ready to cry for Sam’s hurt feelings and frustrated with the both of them—to himself, Dean still remembered those two days in June fondly. Sam had never left Dean’s side for two whole days and maybe it was a little messed up, but it was how they used to be—Sam always, always, _always_ trailing after Dean like a little lost puppy—and Dean hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed it.

He’d never admit that out loud—Christ, he had a reputation here—and, sure, he couldn’t mess around with girls or anything when Sam was around, but he had the suspicion that if Sam were to surgically attach himself to Dean, Dean wouldn’t mind it. He’d bitch, sure, but…he wouldn’t mind it. ‘Cause then at least he’d know where Sam was at and that he was safe. Okay, so maybe it was more than a bit fucked up.

It was just a fact of life that Dean was starting to learn to live with that Sam was getting more and more independent—headstrong and fucking independent. He just didn’t need his big brother around as much as he used to, which, good for Sammy, right? It’s just that Dean…

“Sam!” Dean hissed again.

Sam—fucking finally—jerked and rolled over, opening one eye to peer blurrily at Dean. “Fucking _what_?” he hissed back, managing to fill two words with all that teenage drama again.

Dean ignored his tone and grinned. He jerked his head towards the door. “Come on,” he said, standing up. “Time to go.”

Sam blinked, one hand fisting in the covers while he decided whether or not he was going to take Dean seriously or not. “Go?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, bouncing just a little—fuck, now that Sam was up, it meant that they were about to have some fun. He couldn’t help himself; Sam was going to love this. Dean was allowed to bounce a little. “Put some clothes on.” Sam still looked torn between giving in and just going back to sleep, so Dean brought out the big guns. “Before Dad wakes up!”

Sam threw back the flowered comforter, slipping out of the bed, the thought of getting something over on his father being all the incentive he needed. Flying high already, Dean darted around the bed, grabbing Sam’s jeans from yesterday and throwing them at Sam’s head. “Come on, come on,” he urged, running to the door.

Sam hopped after him, trying to pull on the jeans one leg at a time as he followed Dean. He paused to zip them up and grabbed a shirt to pull over his head. He didn’t bother with socks, just shoving his feet into his tennis shoes without them.

Dean opened the door, double checked to make sure he had his key, and tossed Sam’s hoodie at him. “Hurry up, Suzie Q! Your makeup doesn’t need to be perfect!”

“Dean!” Sam whispered, still trying to get his shoes on right. “Wait!” Sam flipped his hair out of his eyes—time for a haircut again—that’d probably get a whine from Sam, no doubt—and followed Dean outside. “Where are we going, Dean?” Sam asked, closing the door gently behind him.

Dean grinned and ruffled Sam’s hair, laughing quietly when Sam ducked away in irritation. Kid hated having his hair messed up. “You’re going to love this,” he said, already backing away to the far end of the parking lot when he’d parked the Impala yesterday.

Never let it be said that Dean Winchester didn’t know how to plan.

Sam, for once, wasn’t arguing, and there was even a start of a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Yeah. The kid was going to fucking _love_ this and Dean couldn’t regret blowing a hundred bucks on the stuff in the trunk. It might even make up for May 2nd.

It only cost that hundred bucks and hours of agonizing over the thought of his father deciding that he really needed that obscure copy of groozezelgrub mating rituals or something and opening up the trunk. Not that Dean even knew if groozezelgrubs existed or even if they had mating rituals but that would be so like his father—to just randomly decide that he needed that exact thing when Dean was off taking a piss or something. Dean had already spent the day bending over backwards fetching him everything he ever needed—salt, ammo, cleaning supplies, books, whatever—that he knew his father had to have been starting to get suspicious because, yeah, Dean was helpful but he’d never been _this_ helpful.

But Dean hadn’t gotten berated by Dad for taking so long went he went out on the lunch run for nothing—“Damn it, Dean, there are more important things to do than flirt with every two bit hoochie in town!” Dean had bitten his tongue because, for Dad’s information, the teller at Burger King had been a dude and while yes, he had been kind of cute, Dean had barely even spoken with him. Also, Dean was fairly certain that, again, the mating rituals of groozezelgrubs wasn’t exactly _that_ important.

And he also hadn’t dealt with Sam’s stony silence for leaving while the kid was in the bathroom and sticking him with Dad for an hour for nothing, either.

No, after putting that much set-up into this, Dean wasn’t _about_ to let Dad open up the trunk. Their father would _never_ let them do this if he knew.

Which was okay. Dean knew the biggest reason why Sam’d been mouthing off so much lately, punk or no. May 2nd, they’d spent stuck in a swamp in Louisiana. They should have been at fucking Chucky Cheese or something. At least in a random motel room with a cake. But no. They’d spent it with slime molds and snapping turtles, not even finding the water hag until the next day.

To Sam, it didn’t matter that Dean’d baked him a cake on May 4th. Dean didn’t really think he could blame him, either. Fuck, the kid was 13, already.

When Dean slid into the driver’s seat of the Impala, Sam was actually smiling. “Where’re we going, Dean?” he asked again, leaning forward.

Dean started the car, listening to the engine purr. “It’s a surprise, squirt,” he said, putting the car into reverse and backing up. Sam narrowed his eyes but he was apparently going to let Dean get away with leaving things at that. He settled back into the passenger side seat staring out the windshield.

Dean grinned and quirked an eyebrow as he reached out to tap Sam’s nose. Sam scrunched up his face, reaching out to swat at Dean but Dean could see that Sam’s smile was getting bigger. He shifted the Impala into drive and pulled out of the parking lot, heading east out of town. “I bought something today,” Dean confessed, unable to keep the secret any longer. This was going to happen, he knew it was going to happen, so there wasn’t any reason to keep it a secret any longer.

Sam glanced over at him and bit his lip in concentration. “Bought what?”

Dean laughed and turned right. If he remembered correctly… “You’re supposed to be some kind of genius, geek boy. What day is it?”

Sam frowned, staring at the dash. “…July 3rd?” he ventured.

“Nah, that was yesterday. It’s past midnight. What day is it, Sam?” And Dean had to laugh again at how Sam’s eyes widened.

“Seriously?” he squeaked. “Seriously, you have some?”

“Yeah,” Dean said, nodding. “Yeah, I do.” The trees lining the side of the road suddenly stopped and Dean pulled off. “This is it.” He glanced over at Sam and killed the Impala’s engine to toss the keys over to Sam. “Time to go blow some shit up, Sammy.”

Sam fumbled for the handle, the Impala’s hinges screaming as he kicked open the door and nearly fell out of the car. By the time Dean managed to follow him, Sam’d already managed to pop the trunk, his whispered, “Awesome…” floating through the air. Dean sauntered around to the back of the car. He was an amazing big brother, what could he say?

Sam’d already pulled out the crate of fireworks, a full-fledged grin on his face. “Come on, let’s go!” he said and darted off for the clearing. Dean chased after him, reaching him just in time to see Sam turn with a tube in each hand. “Got your lighter?”

“When am I ever without it?” Dean asked, pulling the silver lighter Dad had given him years ago out of his coat. Dad would totally kill them both if he knew where they were at. Good thing he was still snoring back in the motel room.

“Fire ‘em up,” Sam demanded and Dean was never one to refuse an order. He flipped the top and clicked it, lighting it, and held it to each of the tubes that Sam was holding.

“Ya ready? Now hold them out…” Sam’s shot off first, leaping from the thin tube to explode in the sky above them, followed by one from Dean’s as they alternated explosions. “Aw, yeah!” Dean said. “Now that’s fucking cool!”

“Dad would never let us do anything like this.”

Dean turned to look at Sam who, for the first time since Sam had officially became a teenager, was looking at Dean again like he’d hung the moon. Dean hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed that look. He felt his chest start to expand and a lump lodged in his throat that he couldn’t seem to swallow away. He cleared his throat. “That’s why Dad doesn’t need to know.”

“Thanks, Dean,” Sam said. “This is great.” And Dean really felt his world tilt when Sam—awkward, awkward Sam—leaned forward and hugged him, his scrawny arms wrapping around Dean’s waist and his face pushing against Dean’s chest.

…A hundred bucks and a half a day worth of trying to keep a secret from his bloodhound of a father had been more than worth this. Hell, Dean would have paid double. Triple. Sam’s hugs, given out so freely when he was younger, were incredibly rare now and fuck but Dean _missed_ them. Apparently he was forgiven for letting Dad drag them through the muck and the mud. He wanted to just wrap his arms around Sam and pick him up just like he used to but he knew that Sam probably wouldn’t allow that. So instead, he awkwardly returned the hug, cataloguing every second Sam gave him until Sam finally pulled away.

As they broke apart, Sam gave him a quick smile before running back to the crate. Dean felt his heart pang and he cursed. He was a fucking chick but Jesus. A moment like this? Needed a Grand Finale. “Hey, Sammy!” Dean called as Sam was trying to pick out which one he wanted to do next. “What see what happens when we light them all?”

Sam’s smile? Totally fucking worth it.  



End file.
